


a love to destroy you

by evanlinge



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Allusions to Season 2, Episode Tag, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, S05E06: Handle With Care, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanlinge/pseuds/evanlinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way Damon occasionally glanced at him, surprised and charmed and a hint wistful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a love to destroy you

 

* * *

 _A kiss for your eyes,_ _my_ _darling; a bite for your heart,_ _my_ _love._

 

* * *

 

 

“over, and over, and over again–” Tessa is saying. “The only thing keeping you sane was the hope that one day, one of the two people you loved, would come rescue you–” she pauses again, to look down at Stefan, all sardonic tones and falsely pitying eyes.

“–but they didn't,” she concludes. “I did.”

Stefan gasps for air that he doesn't need, images and names and dates circling round and round behind his eyes like the memories are brand new.

“Always remember that.” Tessa looks ancient in that moment, and Stefan hates her with all the weight of his recalled years.

The world slides out of focus for a second, hazy and film-worthy dramatic.

 

* * *

 

The heavy door slides shut behind Stefan as he enters Damon's room, boots clicking on the panelled wood.

“Stefan,” Damon acknowledges him, eyes eerily bright against his ashen complexion. He doesn't say more, choosing instead to curl back against his pillows, gaze tracking Stefan's movements.

“Damon,” Stefan returns, shifting to lie beside his brother on the too-large bed. Damon raises a brow at him curiously but his eyes flicker about the room, never focusing on one thing for long. “you look terrible,” Stefan observes.

Damon snorts derisively, refocusing on him almost dazedly. “You're such a charmer, you know,–” he says, and Stefan starts at the way Damon abruptly sinks against him, his body a long, sinuous line of heat down the length of Stefan's side. His skin is fever-hot, alarmingly so, in a way it hasn't been for nearly a century and a half. “–I like it,” Damon continues.

“You're completely out of your head,” Stefan surmises resignedly, surveying his brother anew as Damon traces meaningless symbols across Stefan's ribs. Damon only hums agreeably, looking up through his ridiculously long lashes. The poisonous wolf-bite paints a jarring spread of colour on his skin, the veins around it blackened like it's burning him up from the inside out.

Stefan tugs him closer still, watching Damon watching him as he settles against him without so much as a sharp remark. It's nostalgically sweet. It's terrifying and tragic all at once.

 

“I love you, you know,” Damon announces, what might be minutes or hours later.

“Damon–” Stefan begins, a little desperately–

“They wanted to call you _Antonio_ ,” Damon continues, with the distressing sincerity of the deliriously ill, “after the saint. I had a horse called Antonio.”

Stefan risks a glance downwards as deceptively warm, shaking fingers move restlessly over Stefan's skin; down his forearms, over his tattooed shoulder, pressing against his sternum, tracing fatal gunshot wounds long since healed.

“I called you _Stefan_ instead, and mother said you were going to be beautiful. You weren't–,” Damon leans back to face Stefan, “–at first.” Damon laughs then, low and a little manic. “I named you, Stefan, after another saint. The first martyred saint of the Catholic church–”

 

Stefan sucks in a sharp breath, almost pained as Damon buries his face against Stefan's chest, muffling more of that edged laughter. Stefan palms the back of Damon's skull, and then downwards to smooth his hand against the delicate curve of his neck. Damon looks up, wild-eyed, and Stefan presses his mouth to the arch of his cheekbone. He rests his temple against Damon's, close enough to share breaths; intimate enough to be lovers or innocents.

“I'm not going to let you die,” Stefan confides lowly, and watches Damon's lip quirk up in a shadow of his usual smirk.

 

* * *

 

Even with the return of his memories, Stefan can never remember the date the incident occurred. Only the faint smell of citrus and vodka, and the taste of copper pence in his mouth. Damon had looked over at him, philosophical and a little drunk and said: “I can always find you Stefan, but you rarely stay.”

“It's because you never learned to play nice, Damon,” Stefan had replied glibly, and not thought twice about the statement.

 

Now, Stefan remembers being slumped in a chair, neck aching as Damon stood over him. He remembers the little disarming quirk of Damon's lips, the way he looked at him, when Stefan surged up out of the armchair. The way Damon occasionally glanced at him, surprised and charmed and a hint wistful.

“Playing nice was never the point.”

 

* * *

 

 _Stefan_ : derived from the Greek _Στέφανος_ , meaning ' _crown_ ', ' _honour_ ' or ' _reward_ '.

* * *

  
A/N: Okay, I actually planned to have something vaguely resembling plot in there, but honestly, I always get caught up in the DamonandStefan mush and the plot devolves from there.

 

 

 


End file.
